


Tangled Up In You

by Dexterous_Sinistrous



Series: Tumblr Prompt Requests [18]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Beta Derek, M/M, Oracles, Red String of Fate, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Tumblr Prompt, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 16:38:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5055982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dexterous_Sinistrous/pseuds/Dexterous_Sinistrous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A single red thread. The two people connected by this simple red string are destined lovers, regardless of time, place, or circumstance. The string can bend, stretch, or tangle, but it can never be broken.</p><p>That is how the myth goes. But Stiles wants to know how he’s looking down at a broken thread dangling from his pinky.</p><p>Prompt: “You like angst, maybe you'll like this: In a world where there's the red string of fate and certain people can seem them ... imagine someone who's able to see these strings when their significant other falls in love with someone else. Now, it could be extreme angst with cheating and/or break-up, it could end up being due to magic interference. Silly is an option - they had fallen in love with a puppy - or happy with the couple being FWB that evolved, or they've found their third for a triad.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tangled Up In You

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr to fill a prompt request ([x](http://dexterous-sinistrous.tumblr.com/post/131696568642/you-like-angst-maybe-youll-like-this-in-a-world))
> 
> Okay, you have no idea how much life this gives me. I absolutely LOVE the mythology of the red string of fate! I’ve been wanting to get a tattoo incorporating it for some time now (but I digress). Sterek and red string of fate AU? Perfection. I love it. It kind of took on a mind of its own. I hope you still enjoy it as much as I loved to write it!  
> Alive Allison. Alive Erica & Boyd. Isaac, Erica & Boyd are still part of Derek’s pack, even though it is implied that Derek isn’t an Alpha any longer. The two packs are just one big pack–because feels. So, kind of canon compliant, but not really because fuck canon.
> 
> The witch speaks in fractured riddles, because like the Oracle of Delphi, she is seen as driven mad by her visions from the gods. She sees past, present, and future, and is often times speaking about Derek and Stiles in third person even when directly talking to them. She was fun to write and I think I'd like to revisit her some time if other people agree to liking her :) If at any point her dialogue seems really wacky, you can always ask and I can try to elaborate as best I can!
> 
> I hope you enjoy it <3

“What is it?” Stiles questioned, looking from the apparently invisible red string wrapped around his pinky. He figured something horrible had happened the minute Scott looked at him like he had another head. His features soured as he stared down at the string, his chest feeling as if it had been cracked open, his heart dug out of the once protective cavity.

“You can see it?” Deaton asked, wishing to confirm that Stiles was actually seeing the string.

“Oh my God, yes,” Stiles angrily stated. “I have had this conversation with Scott _several_ times already. It showed up a few hours ago.”

“You’ve never seen it or felt it before?” Deaton asked, arching his eyebrows in question.

“No—” Stiles stopped, suddenly recalling all the time he subconsciously rubbed his thumb across the inside of his pinky. He thought about the time his pinky would suffer a spasm, as if some invisible force had pulled it. He recalled the times a sharp pain shot through his hand, as if something was hurt. He also remembered how he winced in pain before looking down at his pinky only to find the strange string tied there. “I … I felt it sometimes, but never saw it.”

“I see,” Deaton nodded in affirmation. “It’s interesting that it just showed up, I thought you’d be able to see it once we started training your spark.”

“You know what it is?” Stiles demanded in a shrill voice. “For once, Deaton, please be specific.”

“It’s the red string of fate,” Deaton answered. “I don’t know how familiar you are with Chinese and Japanese mythology,” he started, carefully eyes Stiles.

“A little since … since the Nogitsune. But not much,” Stiles weakly explained, looking down at the string as he prayed that this wasn’t a side effect from that crazed demon’s actions.

“The red string is similar to the westernized concept of soulmates,” Deaton explained. “It’s a happy thing, Stiles.”

Stiles stared at the string, turning his hand to inspect it closer. The string was neatly tied around his pinky, a beautifully elegant bow holding it in place. He had tried to unravel the bow, only to have it resist all his attempts.

“According to several of the myths, the gods pitied mankind and offered them a way to always find one another. The string leads us to each other in our times of need, in situations that only those two connected can persevere through,” Deaton smiled when Stiles looked up at him. “The two people the string connects together are destined to be lovers, regardless of the circumstances.”

Stiles looked down at the string. “What if … what if it breaks?” His voice was gentle, almost afraid to ask the question.

“Break?” Deaton asked in curiosity. “It can stretch, even tangle, but it can’t break.”

“Then why am I looking at a broken string?” Stiles asked, looking up at Deaton with fear and uncertainty.

“What?” Deaton asked, completely taken by surprise.

Stiles turned to look down at the string, his eyes following the thin thread until they landed on the frayed end sadly resting on the ground.

~*~

Stiles felt numb as he listened to Deaton talk, somewhat thankful for Scott’s reassuring hand on his shoulder. He continued to stare down at the string, wondering to whom it could have been attached.

“Is there any way to fix it?” Scott asked, unable to take the melancholy rolling off of Stiles in waves.

“I’ve never heard of anyone possessing the ability to break a red string of fate,” Deaton honestly stated. “It would have to be someone with immense power. Someone—” Realization flashed across Deaton’s fate. “Oh no,” he almost mumbled, tiredly sighing.

“That’s always a good sign,” Stiles sarcastically stated in a monotone voice.

“She’s technically a witch,” Deaton explained.

“Technically?” Lydia questioned, furrowing her eyebrows. “That’s not reassuring at all.”

“She’s a seer,” Deaton offered. “She’s descended from a line of seers who once sat on the altar at the temple of Delphi.”

“So she’s insane,” Lydia quickly stated. “The Oracle of Delphi spewed out nonsense that always made sense _after_ it happened.”

“She is a rather strange one,” Deaton mused. “But she has the ability to … _change_ someone’s fate by altering her own visions.”

“She could sever the string?” Scott asked.

“She could,” Deaton confirmed.

Scott nodded. “We’ll go see her, then.”

“I’d rather not tell the whole pack about this,” Stiles started.

“Too late,” Lydia stated. “We’re a pack so we work as a pack. I’ll get Allison, you two go and get Derek and his little pack of deviants.”

“Great,” Stiles dryly stated. Seeing Derek was just what Stiles needed, someone to criticize him for having his unbreakable string of fate broken.

~*~

“No,” Derek flatly stated, his arms crossed over his chest.

“What the hell do you mean, no?” Scott demanded.

“Exactly what I said, no,” Derek stated.

“I told you this was a stupid idea,” Stiles tiredly sighed. “We’ll just go to this Oracle woman and see if she’ll put me out of my misery at no longer having a destiny.”

“What?” Isaac asked in confusion, wandering down from the spiral staircase.

“I’m defective,” Stiles sarcastically announced.

“I could have told you that,” Erica playfully replied with a snort from her spot on the couch.

“You know nothing about this witch,” Derek stated. “You can’t just expect her to fix it without some catch.”

“It’s better than doing nothing, Derek,” Scott answered.

“What did you just say?” Stiles softly questioned as he stared at Derek.

“You can’t expect her to fix—” Derek started, only to be interrupted by Stiles.

“You called her a witch,” Stiles corrected.

Scott looked at Stiles before looking at Derek. Derek didn’t flinch.

“Why did you call her a witch, Derek?” Stiles demanded.

“Stiles—” Scott started.

“No!” Stiles easily batted Scott’s hand away as he stepped forward, crowding into Derek’s space. “You know something.”

“You’re being irrational,” Derek simply stated.

“Irrational?” Stiles echoed. “I don’t think it’s irrational to be pissed off that somehow my destiny just got screwed over without me knowing, and you seem to know something, Derek.”

“Derek,” Scott gently spoke his name. “Do you know something?”

Derek continued to stare at Stiles, his features softening into something that mirrored an understanding. There was a hint of sadness in his eyes before he finally forced himself to look at Scott. “I met her … twice,” he stated. “Once when I was sixteen, another time more recently.”

Scott hesitated, noting that he couldn’t hear a lie in Derek’s heartbeat—though he was confident that Derek could hide it if he wanted to. “What happened?”

Derek’s features contorted briefly, as if he was recalling a foul memory. “She speaks in riddles, mostly fractured sentences. She gets easily distracted.”

“How did you know about her?” Scott questioned.

“My mother.” Derek hesitated, avoiding eye contact. “I went to her to ask about changing my destiny.”

“Did it work?” Stiles asked, looking down at his pinky as his anger simmered down into hopefulness.

“She refused,” Derek stated. “Said that what is meant to be will be, regardless of the suffering that follows.”

“So this was meant to happen,” Stiles solemnly stated.

Derek carefully looked at Stiles, inspecting his form. “Maybe.”

~*~

“Came back, you came back,” the witch laughed, spinning in delight as her skirts dashed about her legs. “You can’t out run it,” she sang.

“She’s creeping me out,” Stiles stated, frowning with just how much he started to agree with Derek, that it would be hopeless to speak with her.

They had tracked the witch down to a small hovel in the woods, in what must be the one marshy swamp in all of California. Stiles asked for just Scott to accompany him once they received her location from a reluctant Derek.

“Detached,” the witch suddenly stated, halting her movements. She turned to look at them, her yes flickering between them. “Detached but craving reattachment.” Her eyes turned to look at her table of vials before looking at Stiles. “You want it tied once more. You want him back.”

Stiles hesitated before he cautiously moved forward. He gave a reassuring wave to Scott when he reached out to stop him. He didn’t like the way the witch watched him, amusement dancing along her features.

“Who back?” Stiles asked.

“The one your string ties you to,” the witch answered. “Well, tied.”

“You know who it was?” Stiles asked.

“Know, know who it was,” the witch experimentally echoed Stiles’ words, looking down at the string as it loosely hung from Stiles’ finger. Her eyes suddenly moved to look at someone behind Stiles. “Know who it is. You want him back. You want it tied once more.”

Stiles turned to look at Scott, thinking she was looking at him. He caught sight of Derek standing by the entrance to the witch’s hovel, looming in the shadows as he did best.

“He’ll not know,” the witch stated, keeping her eyes on Derek. “He’ll not know if he’s not interested,” she added. “But interested he is. So he’ll know.”

Stiles turned to look at the witch. “He’ll know what?”

“Know that love was sacrificed in hopes of safety,” the witch stated. She frowned. “He knows. He knows that he’ll be in pain—because of him?” Her features twisted into question. “No, not because of him. But he’ll blame himself. Oh, yes, blame himself he will.”

“Can you fix it?” Stiles asked. “Can you fix the cut?”

The witch looked up at Stiles. She looked to Derek. She suddenly mimicked another voice, cutting back and forth in conversation with herself. “Cut it—Cut? Sever your bond?—Sever it or I’ll gladly sever my finger.”

Stiles turned to look at Derek, realization gripping his chest. His eyes started to drifted down Derek’s arm, moving to look at his pinky. He focused until he could see the red string neatly tied in a bow around his slender finger. The string was short, just like Stiles’, with a frayed end dangling in the air.

“You deserved better, Derek Hale,” the witch spoke, her voice gentle. “You deserve Meonemin.”

~*~

_“What can I do to save him?” Derek asked._

_“Save him?” The witch questioned, turning her head to the side as she inspected Derek._

_“To keep him safe from me,” Derek expanded._

_“Safe from you,” the witch wondered. “Safe from you, safe from protection? Safe from love?”_

_Derek narrowed his eyes at the witch, trying to decipher her ramblings._

_“Not safe,” the witch muttered. “Not safe, never safe.”_

_“Pay attention!” Derek growled, his eyes flashing blue to gain her attention._

_“Blue’s just pretty,” the witch seriously stated, a satisfied smile tugging at her lips. “He likes you in blue. You’re pretty in blue.”_

_“Years ago, you told me that those I love die,” Derek interrupted her nonsense. “I want to protect him—how do I do that?”_

_“You want to never love him?” The witch questioned. “To never hold him in your arms? To not confess your feelings?”_

_“I won’t doom him by being with him,” Derek answered._

_“You can’t prevent it,” the witch answered. “Can never prevent it. It’s fate—destiny for him to save you time and time again. To risk his life—forever.”_

_“How is it fate?” Derek demanded, slamming his hands against the table, the force of his hands colliding with the wooden surface caused the small vials and jars to jostle about._

_The witch stilled, her eyes honing in on Derek’s hand. Her hand shot out to grasp Derek’s wrist, bringing it up in between their faces. She easily held Derek’s arm despite his struggling, displaying a greater strength than he thought possible. She reached her index finger and thumb out, tapping them together like a pair of tweezers. She delicately encased Derek’s pinky in between her fingers, pulling it away from his other fingers as if to put it on display._

_“Red,” the witch stated, her eyes dashing up to look at Derek. “Red string of fate. Always destined to meet, always destined to fall together, despite the circumstances. Always destined to love.”_

_Derek looked from her to his pinky, unable to see anything there. His eyebrows furrowed as he tried to focus. He thought he saw a flash of string, a red glowing through the veil of reality. He looked back at the witch._

_“As long as we have this string, he’ll be in danger?”_

_The witch observed Derek. “Danger.”_

_“He’ll follow after me if this string remains,” Derek clarified._

_“Oh, yes,” the witch smiled. “Always following—always longing.”_

_“Cut it,” Derek solemnly demanded as he stared at the empty air._

_“Cut?” The witch questioned. “Sever your bond?” She shook her head._

_“Sever it or I’ll gladly sever my finger,” Derek threatened._

_The witch looked intrigued before nodding in agreement. “He’ll not know.”_

_“Good,” Derek answered. “I’d rather he not know that he was bound to someone like me.”_

_The witch observed Derek, her features softened considerably. “Pain and anger … regret and guilt … Lonely, so lonely.” She paused as a frown pulled at her lips. “You deserved better, Derek Hale,” she spoke, her voice gentler than with her previous words. “You deserve Meonemin.”_

_“Cut. It,” Derek gruffly demanded, not wanting to hear of anything the witch could see—not wanting to know the future he was giving up out of fear._

~*~

The ride back was spent in silence. Stiles ignored the way Scott kept stealing quick glances at him. He remained quiet until they finally reached the loft. Scott turned to look at Stiles, his lips almost pouting as he looked at the Camaro pulling in beside them.

“What are you going to do?” Scott asked as they both looked at Derek getting out of his car, not bothering to look at them as he leaned against the vehicle.

“I’m going to yell at him,” Stiles stated as he unbuckled his seat belt. “And then convince him that I am mad at him and don’t want to wrap him up in a blanket without making him pay for it.”

Scott couldn’t stop himself from smiling as Stiles turned to look at him.

“It’s not funny, Scott,” Stiles stated.

“It’s a little funny,” Scott countered.

“Shut up,” Stiles quipped, climbing out of his Jeep first. He slammed the door harder than he meant to, moving to cross his arms over his chest as he moved to lean back against his Jeep.

Scott paused, only waiting one awkwardly long moment before departing, leaving Stiles and Derek to deal with the situation themselves.

Stiles was grateful for Scott making himself scarce. His eyes lingered on Derek, carefully studying him.

Derek didn’t bother to look at Stiles, aware of his eyes on him. “You want to do this out here or inside?”

Stiles narrowed his eyes at Derek, trying to gage his meaning behind the question. “Meaning?”

“Meaning,” Derek started as he sighed in aggravation. “Would you rather yell at me outside or inside?”

“Perceptive of you to realize that I fully intend on yelling at you,” Stiles announced.

“What did you want me to do, Stiles?” Derek finally looked at Stiles as he spoke.

“You’re _seriously_ asking that?” Stiles demanded.

Derek arched his eyebrows, an invitation for Stiles to elaborate.

“You’re not sorry you did that, are you?” Stiles incredulously asked.

“I’m sorry you found out,” Derek answered. “I’m not sorry for trying to not leave you bound to someone like me.”

Stiles moved before he realized what he was doing. He pushed his hands into the lapels of Derek’s jacket, gripping the material tight as he pulled him close enough to force Derek to look at him. “You listen to me, asshole,” he started, his voice not holding a single threat. “This isn’t just your life, anymore, okay? This is my life, too. And I would prefer you tell me things before you try to be a self-sacrificing idiot on your own.” There was a soft endearment in Stiles’ tone as he spoke.

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” Stiles continued. “I could understand if you didn’t want _me_ to be the one you’re stuck with, but there was no reason for you to think that I wouldn’t want you.”

“Stiles—”

“I kept you from drowning in eight feet of water for two hours,” Stiles continued, not giving Derek the opportunity to argue. “I gave up playing first line to help you find a rogue Peter. I lied to my dad for you, Derek. I don’t lie to my dad for just anyone.”

Derek looked away from Stiles, not making a move to remove his hands from him. He couldn’t tell Stiles that he wanted this—them. He couldn’t doom Stiles to that.

“What are you going to do?” Derek finally asked, not bother to look at Stiles.

Stiles released a small groan, slipping his hands from Derek’s chest. “Since you’re emotionally constipated, I’m going to think about all this,” he gestured to them both. “Come up with a plan.”

“A plan?” Derek asked in confusion. “You went through all that, twisting my arm into letting the witch patch the string, and you don’t have a plan?” His voice was heavy, almost accusatory.

“You didn’t have a plan when you twisted her arm into _cutting_ the string,” Stiles argued.

Derek released an annoyed huff as his jaw set tight, resisting his urge to yell at Stiles. To tell him that is was better that way. “I wasn’t meant to be a part of a pair, Stiles,” he found himself uttering, his voice sounding distant and hollow.

Stiles carefully observed Derek, his eyes scanning him before he moved forward again, crowding into Derek’s space once more. He gently slipped his hand down Derek’s arm, his fingers moving to encase his wrist. He pulled Derek’s hand up between them, the string tying them together waving in the air. He looked at the red bow neatly tied around Derek’s pinky, a faint smile tugging at his lips before he looked at Derek. “Can you see it?”

Derek’s eyes looked from Stiles to his own hand, trying to see the string again. “No,” he weakly answered.

“Well, I can,” Stiles answered. “Deaton said that it might have been because of my Spark, or my need to know that something went wrong—that something tampered with my future.”

“You didn’t decide to whom it’s connected,” Derek countered, still trying to give Stiles a reason to bow out from it.

“We weren’t born with this, Derek,” Stiles finally offered. He moved his hand to hold it next to Derek’s, showing both of their pinkies, side by side. “They’re tied together in nice, adorably matching, little bows,” he smiled. “Ones that formed during our lives.”

“Why would you want to be with someone who can’t even see it—who doesn’t want to see it?” Derek sadly questioned, looking down between them in order to stare at the ground, allowing his hand to fall beside his side.

“Because it’s not that you don’t care about me, Derek,” Stiles stated, reaching his hand out to cup Derek’s cheek in his open palm. “You don’t care about yourself,” he frowned, ignoring the tingling sensation that rose through his spine. “You don’t think you deserve to be cared for.”

Derek looked up at Stiles, a small glint of hope shining in his eyes as he waited for Stiles to continue.

“Let me prove you wrong, Sourwolf,” Stiles softly stated, his eyes dashing across Derek’s face.

Derek hesitated, a slow and quiet nod being the only hint that he even heard Stiles. He let Stiles wrap his arms around him, pulling him into the warmth of his hug.

~*~

**_Years Later_ **

Derek leaned his hands against the edge of the table, looking down at the map Scott had rolled across it. He tapped his fingers against the tabletop as he scanned the sheet of paper.

They were trying to find a way into the abandoned building in order to destroy the nest of ghouls inhabiting the vacant area. It was just another weekly supernatural fight to be taken care of.

Stiles moved next to Derek, leaning next to him as he tried to come up with a plan. He slid his hand along the table’s edge, slipping his pinky over to brush against Derek’s.

Wordlessly, Derek hooked his pinky around Stiles, both of them growing accustomed to performing the subconscious action. His eyes drifted from the paper to look down at their hands. He didn’t bother to hide the faint smile pulling at his lips when he saw the red string dangling from their joined hands.

Stiles turned his head to look at Derek, leaning in to press a quick kiss in the corner of his mouth.

Derek arched an eyebrow at Stiles as he looked up at him, curious why his boyfriend deemed this moment worthy of a kiss.

“Just for being you,” Stiles fondly answered his silent question.

They ignored the minor groans of annoyance coming from the pack as they both leaned in to kiss one another.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to join me on tumblr:
> 
> [drunklightning](http://drunklightning.tumblr.com) is my blog where I reblog anything I find of interest.
> 
> [dexterous-sinistrous](http://dexterous-sinistrous.tumblr.com) is suited towards my ramblings about my writing, and NSFW. (It's where I serenade myself about Sterek). It's my trashcan of emotions. Feel free to stop by and say hi, criticize me, make incoherent noises with me, whatevs.
> 
> [Send](http://dexterous-sinistrous.tumblr.com/ask) me any prompts you think you'd like to have me write!


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